


Caerbinesi

by Redemsi



Series: Caerbinesi [1]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redemsi/pseuds/Redemsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of the king unravels a mystery and a plot against the island nation of Aureum. Now under the rule of the newly crowned King Scott, the kingdom prepares itself for a dark plot that aims to overthrow the throne and create a new world order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologize for leaving so many teasers so long before I've finally finished the first chapter, but I am really invested in this royalty AU, and I really want to thank everyone for the support I've received thus far on this. To show my gratitude, here's the first chapter.

“How are you feeling?”

Scared. Uneasy. Anxious. Numb. Scott could say at least ten more words, but he spoke none. The sensation of pin and needles poking at his skin overtook the nausea building up at the pit of his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel.

His chambers seemed like a prison then. The awnings reverberating the wind’s mocking laugh, the stone walls dwarfing him in it’s cold feel, and the floor refusing to carry his weight.

He took a deep breath, staring at the sapphire stone at the clasp of his cape through the mirror before glancing at his brother, lips in a thin line, cognizant of his distress.

John stood by the large wooden doors, a hand at the edge and an arm across his stomach. He had a concerned look in his eyes, and it made scott cringe. One thing worse than an angry John was a concerned one.

The ginger invited himself in and made his way beside his brother, giving him a look over. He had to spare a smile at the ceremonial garb Scott was draped under. It seemed to barely fit him, considering the fact that it had been prepared on his twenty-first birthday as per tradition; seven years really made a difference. The garb mirrored the royal colors while the gold lining twinkled as he moved. The shawl crookedly clasped around his neck flowed down and bundled behind him, trailing after the man as he walked and turned.

The awkwardness was evident in the prince’s stance. John held him still, hands planted firm on the other’s shoulders. He heard Scott sigh, relaxing under his touch.

“I don’t remember my clothes feeling this confining.” Scott pulled at his collar, looking comically green.

“You look awful.” John chuckled, “But a lot better than last night.”

“I still feel bad about Madame Onaha having to clean up after me.” There was a phantom lurch in his stomach, the taste of bile still evident at the back of his throat. He made a face that John wanted to immortalize in a painting.

“I’m _scared._ ” Scott whispered after a moment of silence. He would never have said it out loud - not to just anyone at least.

For years, he’d shouldered the responsibility of being the eldest son, of being the eldest brother - he kept up the facade of being strong.

In retrospect, he believed that he was trying to feign strength more for himself than anyone else, from the loss of brothers, the death of their mother - and now, their father.

Scott was five when the kingdom went under siege. He remembered guards escorting him to his parents’ chambers where his mother was, holding little John in her arms. He remembered hearing his father yelling commands just before he partook in the defense of the city. He remembered the sound of the sea raging in rhythm of the battle. He remembered the cold feeling of terror.

The flames had danced so coldly in the dark room, his mother kept him close while holding his younger brother. Scott couldn’t stay still, he turned and shifted, trying to drown out the sound of steel against steel right outside their doors. There was adrenaline in his tiny legs, an urge to cry out, and an unbearable want to do something. He realized then that he did not feel scared, he felt helpless. For someone so young, it was admirable for him to have been thinking so selflessly, something their mother had always mentioned that Scott was born with; now a passing memory.

Scott paused and looked into his younger brother’s eyes - noting how they stood eye-to-eye, and studying their color, thinking about the small child in his mother’s arms in the midst of that midnight attack so long ago.

John had always been his number one confidant. They were the two eldest, and both had grown into excellent young men. John had always been there for Scott. He was a good listener, and he was always full of wise words that Scott never doubts.

“When are you not?” Wise words. John smiled, gave the elder's shoulder a tap, and walked over to the fireplace mantle in the center of the far wall to retrieve a small golden band. Scott eyes him curiously as John studies the ring, tracing the engraved words of an oath and grows aware of the cold metal feel of an identical one on his own finger.

"You know, Scott," He holds out the ring for his brother to take, "You’re not alone in this. You have us - me, Virgil ... and Gordon."

John’s expression falls and Scott knows something was wrong as he took the ring from his brother. The shift in the air was palpable as the younger brother’s voice drops into a strong hush.

“Scott," he began with a deep breath, "I recently received word from Gordon.” It wasn’t good news, as far as the elder can tell. Gordon had been at sea for the last five months with the Lady Graciosa, the largest vessel of the Royal Navy under circumstances the brothers were never enthusiastic to talk about.

It had been a dark day then, the clouds ominous as they loomed over the shores across the islands. Scott recalled the rain and the rising tides and the boiling tremor within the youngest Prince. No one could have foreseen the events that followed - and no one dared to mention it again.

“He’s on his way home,” John continued. He paced the room, eyes trailing at his feet with every thump against the laden wooden boards. “Three weeks, four at the latest.”

“Does the court know of this?” concern laced Scott’s voice, low and quiet.

“No. I could only hope not.”

“Have you told Virgil?”

“I haven’t gotten the chance yet.” John pursed his lips and made way to the threshold of the door, making sure the hall was clear before shutting themselves in, “Scott, you are aware of the implications this has if Gordon returns - especially now, right?” A weight began building up at the pit of his stomach, “The moment his sails are seen on the horizon the cannons will turn on him. He has no chance. - Even if he does make it, the Chancellor will raise this to the court, and I can’t - ”

“You won’t.” Scott interjected with a hint of finality, wary of any unwanted eavesdroppers. It was too dangerous to talk about such things inside the castle.

After the death of their father, Scott and John had been convinced that it was an assassination. King Jeff died in his sleep. Physicians concluded that the cause of death was an irregularity in his breathing. The court so easily accepted it, and as Princes, the brothers don’t really hold power as at the immediate death of the reigning monarch, the court gains all the power of the King until an heir is crowned. Even though John was the Court Magistrate, one voice could not gather majority among sixteen.

John began a personal investigation on the matter. One that Scott immediately shut down, worried about what could happen to his younger brother if he was found out. They stayed quiet and let the court lay out the groundwork for Scott’s coronation. The elder promising John for the truth to be revealed under his rule. The people were oblivious to the tension within the castle walls, and Scott wished for the ignorance of the situation.

The loud cheers from the courtyard brought the two back to the affairs at hand. The celebration went on below and it seemed inappropriate so soon after the King’s death. John took a deep breath, arms crossed around himself, when someone started knocking on the doors.

The brothers exchanged a concerned look before John went to see who it was.

“Your highness,” Scott heard the voice greet, “I’m looking for Lord Scott.” At that the brunet moved to stand behind his brother to see one of their grandmother’s handmaidens. Scott wasn’t exactly sure who it was and it made him feel a little guilty for never having tried to know everyone who worked for them - his excuse was that he could never find the time. She bowed in greeting, “Your presence has been requested by Prince Luca of Wesvale.”

The name earned a look of bewilderment from both royalty.

“Thank you.” Scott dismissed the maid, who bowed once more before taking her leave.

“ _Prince_?” Scott turned to his brother, “I didn’t know King Howard had a son.”

“As far as I know, he doesn’t.” John replied, a pensive look on his face. “In any case, you still have to get ready. I’ll go in your stead and meet this … Prince Luca.”

Scott nods in reply and John makes a step out of the room before the elder stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “John.” He caught his eyes, “about Gordon - don’t think about it too much. We’ll sort this out, alright?”

“Alright.”

 

* * *

 

The entire kingdom was an orchestra of blue and gold. The wind rippled against the flaglets and streamers. The golden thunderbird, the insignia of the country, was emblazoned on each and every one of them.

Aureum was a group of islands southeast from the Mainland. Fortresses and castles stood at each of the five largest islands; South Shore, Caerleum, Western Thrace, Eastern Thrace, and Sidoine. A baron governs each of these islands apart from Western Thrace which is under the direct rule of the King as it is where the city and castle of Caerbinesi stands.

Hundreds of small boats, and a handful of ships dotted the eastern shore of the capital island. Villagers from across the archipelago and visitors from neighboring lands came in celebration of the coronation of the beloved crown prince.

The castle itself stood in magnificence at the foot of the conical island, built into the rock face of the mountainous piece of land. It faced the sun rise and the kingdom prided itself in the natural fortress that is the rocky coastlines behind it. It has been called the jewel of the blue water ocean as the deep caverns beneath the jagged rock facades glistened at sunrise; stalagmites play a role in this rare beauty, and the clear ocean surface can only be praised for its gorgeousness even more.

Caerbinesi has lasted for more than a century, and since has been home to the Tracy family. Portraits of every king that has ever ruled lined the entry hall, all regal, all with a semblance of authority and a hint of kindness.

At the end of the gallery, stood a young man, staring at the painting of the recently deceased king. The man had an air of grace, but his face showed unbridled innocence and decency. He was well aware of the servants and maids that trotted along the carpeted hall behind him, welcoming nobles and guests, barons and lords. Yet he simply walked along, studying each king in silence, connecting fathers and sons to sons and fathers as he went.

“Prince Luca?”

The man turned at the call of his name and title.

“Lord Scott?” the man greeted, holding out a hand.

“John. I’m Scott’s younger brother.” John took the gesture. There weren’t many noblemen who don’t know Scott. As the crown prince, their father had taken him overseas as a means for him to learn trade, politics, and be familiarized with the other heads of state. Aureum and Wesvale were allies and King Howard was a family friend. The latter had been bed-ridden for almost a year, and the Tracys did not expect a representative from Wesvale for the coronation as the King had no family - a choice many had scrutinized him for. John found it conspicuous how none of them knew that he had a son.  “Lord Scott cannot present himself at the moment as he is preparing for the coronation, as I assume you are aware of.”

“I see... I was really hoping to meet the King.” Luca stammered. John could tell that the other was clearly disappointed. He was young - plenty younger than him, six or seven years - the least he could tell. The Wesvalian stood a few inches shorter than the prince, his wavy platinum blond hair was combed neatly, making it seem short at first glance. John found the tiniest curls puffing out from the nape of the other’s neck. He was slim, lanky to say the least - making him look taller than he actually is. There was an air of simplicity to him that made John even more suspicious and curious.

“He’s not king yet,” John replied lightly with a small smile.

Luca chuckled, "Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, at least,” the younger man offered, matching his smile. The man’s eyes were startlingly identical to John’s; blue and green, but not quite.

John could only assume on why the existence of the prince had evaded the Tracys’ knowledge. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing happened – but nevertheless, he had his suspicions. The younger man stood at a posture of a nobleman, straight, tall, and just a glint of a charm. John, however, noted the way the other mirrored his own wariness. The Aurean prince decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes, and same to you. … Pardon my presumption, but I wasn’t aware the King of Wesvale had a son.”

The question didn’t seem to faze the prince, “... That is somewhat of a long story but -”

“Your highness!”

John watched as Luca’s face fell into irritation. The Wesvalian tensed and turned to John as if wanting to say something else, but decided not to.

A guard grabbed the prince by the arm. John was about to protest when a familiar face came.

“Your highness, I told you not to stray from me.” Lord Belagat breathed glaring down at Luca.

Lord Belagat was the ambassador of Wesvale to Aureum. He was a well-respected man and one of the late King Jeff’s closest confidants. He was a member of the Wesvalian court before King Howard offered him the mantle as the ambassador to the archipelago. Enthralled, Belagat agreed, having been a usual visitor to the islands. He has since served more than ten years under the Aureum court and had been given the position as the court adviser to King Jeff.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The ambassador turned to John, “Prince Luca is still … trying to step into his father’s shoes.” Luca rolled his eyes, but didn’t struggle against the hold of the guard. John wanted to say something but he was quickly interrupted by the bells of the cathedral marking that the ceremony was about to start.

Even before John could reassure the ambassador that everything was fine, he had made his leave along with the Wesvalian prince. John looked on, even more curious after meeting the insightful individual.

“He’s handsome,” came a feminine voice behind him. John found the Baroness of Caerleum, Lady Penelope at his side in that instant. He couldn’t say he was surprised to see her, as her light feet was one of her most admirable traits. She hooked her arm around John’s, eyeing the foreign prince being dragged away.

“Did you know Wesvale had a prince?” John inquired, knowing the Baroness rarely had a dose of ignorance among such topics.

“Surprisingly, no.” She answered, an expression of mysterious notion replacing the suspicion in her eyes, “I’ll have someone look into it - Parker?”

“Right away, M’lady.”

John felt a chill down his spine. An older man seemed to materialize from thin air right beside the Baroness. Sometimes, John swore it was from Parker that Penelope got her light-feetedness. They were like a pair of shadows; one pink and one gray. John had set the thought in stone to never get on the Baroness’ bad side. - It seemed all of the brothers shared this sentiment.

Before John could even properly greet Parker, he’d already gone.

“Ceremony’s about to start, your highness.” Penelope nudged the prince, ignoring his bewildered face, “we should really get moving.”

 

* * *

 

The doors into the cathedral moaned open. The ponderous wooden doors parting to reveal the crown prince. Scott stood at attention as everyone turned to him. He found himself deep in thought of how twenty-eight years of being a prince, being molded into this role really may have not actually prepared him to claim the crown. No matter who or how many told him that he was ready - he knew he wasn’t. Everything was simply happening faster than what he can properly comprehend.

Scott felt like the entire thing dragged on for hours even if it barely lasted thirty minutes. He almost backed down (he can’t) but then he made the mistake of looking at John. John, his divine brother that could probably summon Lucifer.

John had a lot on his mind already. He stood between Virgil and Penelope, in-waiting since he too would take part in Scott’s coronation, to claim the title of crown prince. He found Luca seated a row behind the court officials; the Wesvalian seemed agitated – as if he was waiting for something to happen. The ginger watched closely, and noticed that Lady Penelope too was keeping an eye on the foreign prince.

John considered having a guard to follow Luca, but he didn’t think it would be appropriate to blatantly show his distrust. But then again, he’s pretty sure that Penelope had Parker do the task – a more discreet way – in the most discreet way. He could settle his worries at that.

Luca met John’s eyes and the elder quickly shifted and met Scott’s instead. He may still had the same look of cynicism and it had made Scott swallow hard.

John found Luca looking bewildered as Scott was finally declared King of Aureum. The second eldest kept a watchful eye on him when Virgil nudged him, “You’re up.” The ginger just looked at him questioningly before realizing all eyes were on him.

Gracefully, he’d pushed back the sense of embarrassment as he knelt down for the King’s blessing, his declaration as the crown prince.

Scott was handed a sheathed sword, covered in blue cloth. John bowed his head as the King pulled out the magnificent piece of metalwork. The sword was made of pure gold, from the blade, to the crossguard, and to the hilt, which was engraved with an intricate relief of a bird enveloped in flames. It was a long sword that; it was the ceremonial sword of the heir of the Aurean throne. It had been Scott’s for the last ten years, as it is given to the King’s first born son at their 18th birthday.

John affirmed in response to his duties as the crown prince and accepted the sword, brandishing it skyward as he turned to face the sigil of Aureum, the thunderbird, which hung at the front of the cathedral.

He felt a sense of relief when the entire thing was over – it was that one part of being royalty that he never really understood: ceremonial tradition. He respected their culture, but he had always been an advocate of change. Nevertheless, he took it upon himself to always participate in such events, hoping to better see the past – as tradition is the only thing that stays constant over the reign of their forefathers.

John took his place at Scott’s side as the crowd bowed in respect at the new king.

Dinner commenced as the sun hung low on the sky, the great hall was turned into a massive dining function with tables filled with different food whose aroma could not be more appetizing, embellished by the native flowers of the islands.

The room was a celebration of golden ribbons and darkened teals, a perfect match for the aesthetics of the entire kingdom. Nobles and commoners were welcome inside the Caer, and all mingled happily, exchanging conversation, and greeting John as he passed.

The ginger was wandering around, with a goblet in hand (only water - not wine.) He was looking for Luca, wanting to finish their conversation earlier. He had the feeling that the younger prince had a lot to say.

“I see that it’s not an easy task to seek the King at the night of his coronation,” Luca took a sip out of his own goblet as John turned to acknowledge him - fully aware that the other was looking for him.

“You should try and ask for his presence on a rainy morning,” John replied, “He’ll have your head before you could utter a word.”

The blond smiled, “I apologize for earlier. Lord Belagat is paranoid of … who I am - in a sense.”

“That begs the question, who are you?” John had an arm across his abdomen, his left elbow resting on his right hand, “Pardon my asking, your highness - but I find it really conspicuous how none of us seem to know you.”

“It’s fine - I completely understand.” Luca nodded, “I was suspicious of myself at first as well,” he hummed, “I _am_ from Wesvale. I’ve lived there for all my life, but I didn’t know I was a prince - it’s a fairytale, if you would, getting dragged out of your home one night, announced that you are the heir of the throne, severed from the family who brought you up, and thrown into the castle at the feet of a very ill king - not a month ago.

“It was horrific. Eyes were suddenly on me, labeling me as the bastard son - which I still don’t believe, if I can be honest with you.” Luca glanced at Lord Belagat to their left, who was occupied with an animated conversation, entertaining the barons. “May we continue this outside?”

“Of course.” John replied with keen interest and soon the two had abandoned their drinks and found themselves in the courtyard gardens as the sun hung low over the horizon.

The wind was blowing cool wind from the sea, the waves created a rhythm as it clashed against the sands of the beach not too far off. There were other people walking about the hedges, but are all too far to really hear what the pair of princes were saying.

John figured Luca was the sort of person who’d think before he acted. He was the type to create ideas, assume, test, and analyze everything - which would explain the way he was acting earlier but John still had to know what exactly the Wesvalian was expecting to happen.

“I dug my way through our archives,” Luca began, “It seems they are still unsure of my validity. I was hoping that I wasn’t. - but that’s not the point of why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Or why you seemed so agitated at the cathedral.”

Luca raised an eyebrow at that, a small smirk forming on his lips, “I _have_ noticed you staring.”

“That’s besides the point.” John interjected quickly, feeling awfully irritated at the smug tone the younger had. He may have looked innocent and young, but the elder prince was soon learning that he was cocky, if not overwhelming. It was then that John concluded that Luca was smart. He may have grown up as a commoner as he says, but he’s taking everything that had happened to him well - mature - and he’s definitely using it to his own advantages.

“Yes, of course.” Luca shrugged, “When I was checking the investigation on myself … I may have uncovered something else that involves Aureum.”

“And what is that?” John steps in front of him, halting their walk.

Luca leaned close, dropping his voice in a more quiet tone, “There are inconsistent documents regarding the Triremian Trade between Aureum and Wesvale. Something is going on under the nose of King Howard. I -” the blond paused, licking his lips, his young countenance appearing grimly decades older, “I think it has something to do with your father’s death.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your highness, I have reason to believe that King Jeff was murdered.”

 

 


	2. The Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the mountains that border two kingdoms, a lone rider finds himself in the middle of something that may have been too big for a little one as him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following occur at the same time as the events in the previous chapter. There will probably be a back and forth between the different storylines and they will converge at one point. I worked on with the comments I got and hopefully gotten them off properly this time around. Anyway, here it is!

At the eastern edge of the Kingdom of Wesvale stood a forest of flower bearing trees. Petals of white stood out against the greens of the leaves. And as the wind ruffles a tune, pieces and bits blow off, carpeting the forest floor in a blanket of silver - there lies the name of the woods, the Silver Woods.

The Silver Woods ran across the base of the Solton mountains, the border of Wesvale and Cagoa. Many stories and legends exist that told of magical creatures that lived in the forest. It was believed that fairies lived within the trees and it was their magic that kept the flowers brilliantly white. The Wesvalians considered the fairies as the keeper of peace, and thus avoided disturbing the forest.

A belief clearly not held by all.

The echoes of thundering hooves against the petal laden ground broke the melodic sway of the branches. Birds and other small animals fled out of the way as a lone horseman broke through a small clearing quickly followed by three - four - five pursuers.

The first rider held tightly at the reins, jaw locked and eyes straight at the cluster of trees in front of him. His blood red cloak billowed behind him as he rode further east, his face shadowed by the hood on his head. His horse responded well to the tiniest moves as they cleverly maneuvered through the winding landscape. They leaped off ledges, ducked at low branches, and criss-crossed the entangled trees. They edged away from the dense trees, jumping over a mossy log, and landing straight onto the path in the middle of the forest.

“Holy - “ He leaned right, thankful for his reflexes as he heard the wind whistle against the flying arrow over his left shoulder. The rider pulled off his hood and spared a look behind him just in time to see another arrow aimed right between his eyes. Alan pulled his horse, Red and dove just in time to evade the flying blade. It wasn’t a second later that his left arm tinged with pain, his cloak ripped over his shoulder, and a hint of blood was running down his arm.

It began as a dare.

The Luddites was a known cult among the Seven Realms. They were a fraternity, a brotherhood that held the belief of a new world order. Rumors of Nobles being members of the cult was common, and it had been said that they had more power than they let on. They also had a reputation as criminals-for-hire. Assassination, thievery, sabotage - name the game, and they’ll do it for the right price - usually in favor of powerful aristocrats and royalty. They had never failed a commission as far as hearsays are concerned and Alan found it a challenge.

Alan was the type of guy who loved a good challenge, an opportunity to prove himself and make a name - or really just for the fun of it. He’d appreciate the dose of adrenaline every now and then.

In retrospect, he should really have had a better sense of discretion.

“Come on, buddy - we’re almost there,” he encouraged as the yells of the men in pursuit grew louder. They began to speed up. Alan managed to avoid getting hit by another arrow as they find themselves heading at a crossroads in the clear path of silver petals they were on. Barely giving it a thought, he turned right, smiling to himself as he spotted a familiar mark on the bark of a fallen log, taking a sharp turn and diving away from the path.

As choreographed as it was, he took his horse down a man-made clearing and dove around a large boulder as everything went quiet. He leveled his breathing, his heart thumping wildly, but he remained silent. His horse knew the gist and it stayed still, leaning low as the sound of pounding hooves came passing by, accompanied by a chorus of maddened voices, uttering words that would make one’s mother furious.

Alan waited a minute or two before saddling up his horse and quietly making his way up back to the path. He turned back from the way he came, to the crossroads and moving forward into the left path. He continued on with less haste, pulling out a pouch from his bag and weighing it in his hands, smiling victoriously - smug.

“Well, that’s the Luddites’ clean record broken,” he chuckled, patting his horse who shook its head in response. “Now, what have we here?” He shook the small pouch, the golden coins jingling at his delight.

Better to at least get something out of putting his neck on the line.

He reached inside the leather pouch and his hand wrapped around something curious. He pulled out what looked like a medallion; a series of chains leading to a rather heavy piece of gold that held a bright red gemstone on one side, and an elaborate relief of a bird - one Alan had not encountered before.

He held it up, the ruby glinting in the little light that passed through the branches of the trees, staring at it as it spun. Alan found something familiar about it, but couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

A shadow overhead passed, startling him. He quickly caught the medallion in his hand, looking up and around warily, “We better get a move on.” He pulled at the reins, securing the medallion before making their way out of the woods.

 

* * *

 

Alan and his horse made it to one of their ‘outposts,’ as he called them, that night. He’d rationed them some food and managed to bandage his wound. He was glad he’d gotten supplies at his last stop.

The outpost was a hidden cavern that one would only see if they knew about it. The mouth of the cave edged at an outward curve that gave it an illusion of a large bolder amidst the exposed bedrock of the canyon.

Alan had found it accidentally, and by accidentally, it really was an accident.

He was traversing the canyons of Dry Skull Pass, the treacherous path between the kingdoms of Wesvale and Cagoa. He was walking alongside his horse, weary and tired from a long day helping out at a local farm for money. He was muttering complaints about his body aching when he stepped on a loose stone and slipped over the ledge. He had grabbed the reins, and his horse whined, suddenly alert as it tried to pull Alan back up, struggling. He tried to get leverage, but before he could even heave himself up, the old ratty reins of his horse snapped from the bit, sending him tumbling down the canyon, He tried to grab hold on the stone wall, as the slope gradually declined, but he found no purchase as he began to roll down the side of the cliff face – he saw the cluster of rocks at the foot of the fall and braced for impact, but found that he’d safely rolled down the curved entry of the cavern.

He’d had plenty of close-call experiences in his eighteen years.

He’d originally come from the small country of Visae at the north tip of the Mainland continent. He grew up with an older sister who took care of him while their parents worked and tended the farm and their animals.

He’d had his horse, Red for as long as he can remember. His sister and he used to ride across the wide open glades in the spring, where they’d race and challenge each other on different courses that they had engineered themselves.

Alan dreamed of being a horseman - a racer. He wanted to compete in tournaments all over the Mainland and make a name for himself across the Seven Realms. His family supported him, but knew they could never give such an opportunity for Alan.

Alan knew this and he understood. He’s happy and content with everything that he has. He was never one to ask for anything more; but fate made an unprecedented move when Visae was attacked. Their small village became the easiest target as it was the farthest from the capital – help couldn’t have arrived in time as everything burned.

Alan, then just a young boy, was riding alone near the western border of Cagoa, where the Solton Mountains diverged into two, the Visaean Ridge, and the Eagle Point hills. It was a spot he’d cherished because of the view and the beauty of the flora that thrived there. In spring, the grass was a gorgeous blanket of green accented by yellows and whites and purples and pinks of flowers and plants that swayed with the wind. A couple of trees dotted the landscape, an apple one stood at the edge of the small cliff that faced the west. One could see the towers of the Visaean capital of Caervisaea from that point, a view Alan had his back on.

“Stay still!” Alan laughed, standing at the back of his horse as he tried to reach for a fruit from the apple tree. The dusk was breaking and the sky was a palette of orange and purple. He’d been out since early morning, and spent the day maneuvering around obstacles he’d made by the forest. He’d asked his sister to come with him, but she was still aiding their mother in the mills.

“Got it – hey ah- woah!” He held the apple victoriously, smiling crookedly as he fell on his behind, his horse shaking its head in mock delight. He wiped the bright green apple on his shirt before taking a huge bite out of it.

Red stomped its hooves and slammed against the tree, a lone apple falling to the ground. The horse leaned down and began to eat, much to Alan’s surprise and false irritation.

“Hey! Not fair. How’d you do that?” He smiled at his companion.

He walked them over to the highest point of the glade where he sat quietly, finishing his apple, and admiring the golden hue of the sun’s disc, slowly dipping into the western horizon. He sat back against his horse which settled behind him on the grass. He took in the silence, feeling serenity with the rhythm of the wind blowing from the north.

Alan wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he came to, the sky was already littered with stars.

He began to panic.

He didn’t want his family to worry, and his mother only had one rule and that was to always be home before dark.. Hastily, he hopped on his horse’s back and sped their way back home, unaware of the terror waiting for them.

He smelled the soot before he saw the flames.

Alan slowed to a stop at the glowing edge of the horizon in the direction of his home. With a sickening feeling boiling at the pit of his stomach, he rode on. He tasted bile at the back of his throat as he got closer, the fire dancing scornfully in front of him. The cries of help and groans of pain made his heart stutter, and his hands grew cold as they held tight at the reins.

He didn’t get a chance to step foot in the town before he was spotted by a group of men in black robes, pointing to him in an unfamiliar language. He was frozen in sheer terror and shock, but his horse made the decision to turn back for him; immediately racing back from where they came as a pursuit began. Alan simply held tight on his horse, letting Red take the lead as they quickly outran the murderers.

That happened five years ago.

In those years, he’d taught himself a lot of things that a kid his age shouldn’t have known. He had nothing on his person that could be considered a memory from his family except the memories he had. He wandered around Visae, never claiming that he was from the burned village. He simply could not stand the pity people had for him. He decided to do what he could for himself and for Red so he worked for money until he was able to get himself everything he needed and work harder to get Red what it needed. – After three years of finding a rhythm for his new like, he began entering competitions and quickly rose up the ranks, earning the misnomer of Dusty Rider.

The fame wasn’t as spread out as it sounded. He was known in small towns and villages that had an industry with equestrians. I between his quests for competition, he’d settled for small time work, anything that would pay - or at the rarest, play either Robin Hood or Jack, thieving from the giants.

Alan had decided to sell the medallion at the nearest town of Solton at the mouth of Cagoa. The town was fairly large, the stone cast wooden shops lined the path that led to the town square where the institutions stood, the Viceroy’s chateau at the center. The stone paved roads clacked against the steel horseshoes of Alan’s horse as they made their way downtown toward the tavern, where they were sure someone could give him a good price for such a large gem.

The occasional chuckle and hushed chatter gave the small tavern a vibe of nonchalance. The windows were all stained yellow and the wooden floor creaked as Alan stepped inside, pulling down his red hood and looking around. He noted the elder women at one corner, all smiling wide and chatting with a bottle of whiskey on their table, there was a couple sharing a plate of veal at another, a lone young woman at the deepest part of the place, and two men chatting animatedly at the bar. Alan decided to start with the most likely person who could give him a good tip - the barman.

He’d asked for a glass of scotch, at which the skeptical barman gave Alan a once-over. Alan was young. He looked it. He may not have been as tall as the next guy, but he could hold his own. He tended to use his size as an advantage in  racing, being a lot lighter than the competition. His boyish looks could also get him the slip when it comes to getting caught by guards and knights.

The barman shrugged and poured him a glass.

Alan knew when and when not to drink. He knew his limits, and he was a bit disappointed with the fact that he was a lightweight. He kept himself in check with a bottle of chaser, either water or some fresh juice he’d gotten from sneaking around orchards and vineyards.

“It’s been a quiet few days hasn’t it - with all them nobles out of the country.” The man over two seats was saying, Alan listened in, holding the glass of scotch, staring at the golden liquid. “Aureum’s got a new king, old King Jeff dead - pity, I really liked him. Brave man, that he is. Still remember the Cagoan crisis - got good Aureans at arms - saved us all, god bless ‘em.”

“ - Aye, I recall. They’re having a rancid festival for the new king – Aureans are pretty classy aren’t they? Got them feasts and galas and tournaments and whatnot.”

“Tournaments?” Alan piped in, scooting closer – the larger man glanced at him, giving him a nod of affirmation in reply.

“Archery, lancing, boat races – the usual lot. I got the pleasure of joining once – the knighting of the youngest Prince – a year back.”

“And horse racing?” The younger man’s eyes were expectant, feeling a smile creep up his face, getting ahead of himself.

“Oh yes,” the other man interjected, “Isn’t that one Aurean prince known for it? Prince James?”

“Prince John”

“Aye, yes – Prince John; spent a good deal ‘ere in Cagoa riding horses with Lord Van Arkel, didn’t he?”

Alan narrowed his eyes in thought, he hasn’t heard of this prince before – and he found it curious how he didn’t know about a recognized Noble. In retrospect, he’d only been around the Mainland without much idea on the islands at the eastern and western coasts. He’d heard enough stories and rumors to know the least about the Nobles of both island nations – even the four princes of Aureum, and good looks as the ladies would say.

“ - across the Seven realms left for Caerbinesi a few days back – came to pay their respects, and to align themselves wi’ the new king. Tradition and all that – I believe.”

Alan had zoned out for a moment and lost the conversation.

“It’s curious that the Lady Queen refused to go. - the lot says something’s up at the castle,” the other replied, finishing off his drink as the barman came over to fill the glass up again.

“I heard about that - few weeks back, right? Refugees from Visae crossed the border, claimin’ that they were attacked by – “

BANG, the doors whined at the brute blunt force.

There was a split second of surprise before Alan found himself held by back of his hood. Several cloaked figures had entered the tavern, Luddites – Alan concluded, as the other patrons were at a standstill.

“Oy,” the barman sneered, “Get outta here.”

“Sir,” The one holding Alan spoke. His voice was ragged and scratched - as one would sound if he’d screamed for hours on end. “I have no business with you,” the hooded man turned from the barman to Alan.

“Fancy meeting you here,” The young man laughed nervously, hands trying to pry the grip the Luddite had on his cloak, “couldn’t have sent a letter?” Alan found enough purchase on his assailant’s hold to smack his own skull against the Luddite’s chin.

Chaos ensued.

Most of the patrons had fled at that moment, while the barman and the two men Alan had been talking to stepped in. The three held most of the Luddites back with punches thrown against punches. Tables broke and chairs flew as the fight raged in the small tavern.

Alan felt the back of his head throb, as he was dropped by the larger man. He jumped over the bar counter with a huff, an annoyed look on his face. His hand fell onto the pouch strapped on his person as he took in the rumble in front of him. He’d been in similar situations before, but he rarely came out unscathed.

The man held his jaw and Alan swore he could see the murderous glare under the Luddite’s shadowed face. Alan grabbed a few glasses as the other lunged at him. He threw them with enough force for the glass to shatter against the man’s skull, but it didn’t seem to bother him much at all.

Alan dove behind the bar when the man got too close for comfort as several bottles of scotch fell over and broke. The horseman grabbed a bottle of wine and swung it at his assailant’s head, the glass flying everywhere and scratching his own hand.

There was a scream of frustration, the man calling him a little devil, and a flurry of silver as the Luddites drew swords – the men helping him backed off at the sight of the blades, cornered as the fight swung to the Luddites’ favor. The barman looked over at Alan over his shoulder as the three were thrown out, apologetic.

Alan held both hands up in surrender as two Luddites joined the who Alan assumed to be the alpha of the pack. “Maybe we can talk about this.”

“The Mark, ” the man noticed the bag Alan was wearing earlier missing and held up his sword at the young man’s neck, “where is it?”

The sneer in his voice made the hair at the back of Alan’s neck stand. He offered a shrug and an innocent smile in reply, further enraging the Luddite. In retrospect, it may not have been the best decision of the day.

The man snarled and poised his sword for a strike when the doors opened once again, the force finally shattering the wood. All heads turned at the newcomer and Alan took the distractio.

“That’s my cue to go.” Alan made a face and started into a run straight for the window --- THUMP.

“Ow.” Alan held his head, that’s strike two – the window may have been a lot stronger than he expected. Before he could properly gain his sense of self he was picked up easily by his neck. The large man muttered curse words in a language the younger did not understand.

There was a clang and a strike of metal against metal – The man dropped Alan to swing his sword in time to block a strike against him.

Alan coughed and gasped for air, trying to get the feeling around his neck back. He looked up for a moment to see the lone girl who sat at the edge of the tavern earlier, brandishing a broadsword, and using it to its full effect. She was on the offense, four fallen Luddites behind her - dead. She had a determined look on her face as she swung and jabbed and her opponent parred.

Alan had to crawl out of the way as she pushed on, the Luddite stepping back until he found himself cornered; the woman’s sword pointed at his neck. Alan saw a serious glint in her eyes, but she held her blade. The young man figured he’d probably pass out if he were the recipient of her gaze.

“Look out!” Alan managed to croak as an arrow flew past the doors, aimed right for the girl - she retaliated quickly, turning on her heel and cutting the shaft in midair. The brief distraction was enough for the cloaked man to make an escape. Alan reached for the ends of the man’s robes, but only managed to pull it off to reveal a white haired man, scarred from his left ear, down his jaw and to his neck. The man shot his dark blue petrifying eyes at the young boy before sprinting off - it left Alan with his heart in his throat and a tattered black cloak in his hands.

“Alright, there?”

Alan blinked at the hand held out for him, and stared at the girl who practically – well, quite literally saved his life. He took the hand and pulled himself up, still feeling nauseous and disoriented. “Never better,” he offered with a crooked smile.

“You better get going, I have a feeling that they’ll be back for you.­ My Danae is a little rusty, but that guy had more than a few nasty things to say about you.”

Alan dusted himself off, trying to make his way around the broken tables, shattered glass, splattered blood, and dead bodies; cringing from both pain and disgust – “You’re used to this, aren’t you?”

“I could be,” she replied as she walked around the bar, cleaning her blade with a tablecloth before sheathing it at her side, her long teal cloak hiding the weapon from plain sight. Alan eyed the blade as it sank to its leather cover, catching a glint of an insignia at the edge of the crossguard.

Alan made his way around the edge of the counter to fetch the pouch he’d hidden but found it gone. The Luddites may have gotten what they wanted after all. All the trouble, Alan thought before they both made their way out.

Alan wondered why the mark, as the man had called it, was so valuable that it was worth almost killing a kid for it - he’s not a kid, but still. If the Luddites were involved, Alan may have had to rethink just how he should look at it - he could only assume that someone had hired the cult to ensnare the artifact. Whatever the case, Alan felt involved. He remembered the medallion, the familiarity of it and the curious emblem - the same emblem he’d seen at the girl’s crossguard.

Alan glanced at the girl’s side, where the sword would’ve laid behind her cloak, more questions forming in his head. He looked up at a curious expression from her. “Oh, uh - Thank you,” he stammered and chuckled meekly.

“I never caught your name,” Alan turned to her.

“I didn’t throw it,”

Alan gave her an incredulous look and crossed his arms, “I’m Alan.”

“Kayo.”

 

 

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  



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